(John Keats)

My dearest lady,
I am now at a very pleasant Cottage window,
looking onto a beautiful hilly country,
with a view of the sea.
The morning is very fine.
I do not know how elastic my spirit might be,
what pleasure I might have in living here
if the remembrance of you did not weigh so upon me.
Ask yourself, my love, whether you are
not very cruel to have so entrammelled me,
so destroyed my freedom.
For myself, I know not how to express
my devotion to so fair a form.
I want a brighter word than bright,
a fairer word than fair.
I almost wish we were butterflies
and lived but three summer days.
Three such days with you
I could fill with more delight
than 50 common years could ever contain.

Will you confess this in a letter
you must write immediately
and do all you can to console me in it,
make it rich as a draft of poppies
to intoxicate me,
write the softest words and kiss them
that I may at least touch my lips
where yours have been.

(Fanny Brawne )

My dear Mr. Keats, thank you for your letter.
Lately I have felt so nervous and ill
that I had to stay five days in bed.
Having received your letter, I am up again,
walking our paths on the heath.
I've begun a butterfly farm
in my bedroom in honor of us.
Sammy and Toots are catching them for me.
Samuel has made a science of it
and is collecting both caterpillars
and chrysalises
so we may have them fluttering about us
a week or more.

(John Keats)

I have two luxuries
to brood over in my walks,
your loveliness and the hour of my death.
Oh that I could have possession of them
both in the same minute.
I never knew before what such a love
as you have made me feel was.
I did not believe in it.
But if you will fully love me,
though there may be some fire,
it will not be more
than we can bear when moistened
and bedewed with pleasures.